


Belief of Frost

by Thisisentertaining



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Introperspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisisentertaining/pseuds/Thisisentertaining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack was an spirit. True.<br/>He was also a child. True.<br/>As such, his beleif had more power than one could imagine. Secret. Only Pitch knows and there is no way he is tellign the Guardians.<br/>Not Blackice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pitch snarled as he batted the last Nightmare away, effectively replacing his fear with all-consuming anger as he seethed in his defeat. The Guardians had won, he had been defeated, tossed aside to be set upon by his own subjects until he remained as a mere shadow. Now he was more powerless than he had been in centuries. To add insult to injury the Guardians would be more powerful than ever before, despite the many children permanently lost on Easter. And why was that? Because of that wintry upstart, the ice brat, frosty devil Jack Frost.  
The Guardians had increased their power and diminished his more than they could ever hope for. Because of Jack Frost. And the worst part was, they didn’t even know. Frost didn’t even know. They had taken away the Nightmare King’s greatest power source and applied it to themselves and they didn’t. Even. Know. Even had they noticed the strange surge they never would think of what was at its source, never would even consider that all the extra strength they had, all of the excess power came from one little frost boy.  
Jack Frost was more special than the Guardians could ever know. More important than they could possibly realize. Yes Jack was a spirit, he was immortal, but he was also a child. A child with belief just like any other, only so much more powerful. For years Pitch had had this belief all to himself. For with an immortal it seemed that simple knowledge that Santa or the Easter Bunny or, yes, the Boogyman exists was not enough for the spirits to profit from their belief. No, they had to have complete faith in that spirit’s center. They had to experience the wonder or hope… the fear. And oh, Jack Frost knew fear.  
He feared being alone forever, he feared silence. Jack Frost shivered in the thought of unanswered questions and getting the cold shoulder. He quaked at the thought of people walking through him, of spirits never giving him a second glance. He was afraid of solitude, afraid that his isolation was his fault somehow, that no one liked him because he was just a colossal mess up. He was completely terrified of another day spent alone and unwanted. And the best thing, the most satisfying, delicious thing, was that each and every day his darkest fears came true.  
It was a verifiable feast for a starving Boogeyman. He remembered his first taste of the boy’s fear, ice cold and minty-fresh with bittersweet undertones, tasting exactly as chocolate-chip mint ice cream. He’d been attracted to it, drawn by it as a child is drawn to the scent of fresh baked cookies. And when he’d found the source he discovered a skinny new spirit, still young enough for Pitch to feed off of his fears, being walked through in a tiny village.  
He had been disgusted the next morning when the boy had all but forgotten the previous night’s terror in favor of playing with his powers and having fun. However, the next night, after Sandy’s dreams had left the sky to reside in the minds of children, Pitch got another helping of the decadent fear. The spirit was yelling at the moon, begging for answers that he never got.  
Over the years Jack’s desperate fears got more powerful, more pronounced, and Pitch found himself feasting on power the likes of which the fear of thousands of mortal children could never have given him. And the best part was, for the better part of those glorious three hundred years he was the only one gaining any power from the boy. Jack’d had no ‘precious childhood memories’ from the start, so while the frost boy knew of Tooth’s existence she had none of his belief.  
Any wonder that the boy may have held was soon hollowed out and destroyed by bitterness as he spent his eternal winter completely alone. Perhaps the bitterness would not have been so great if one Christmas, just one, he’d received a present or- or even just a lump of coal. Jack just wanted to be acknowledged on the night that every child was shown love in gifts under the tree, the night where family meant the most. Oh, his fruitless, fearful desires were almost like a Christmas present for Pitch. Especially on Christmas morning when the boy would wake to find he’d been overlooked again. The fading wonder had been renewed the when he had first seen the workshop, only to be squashed down once more as he was kicked out by the yetis whose apologies sounded to his ears as uncaring jeers. It didn’t take long for his wonder to die completely one Christmas morning when North was so full of belief he didn’t even notice.  
Sandy, unfortunately, was Jack’s one solid rock during his three hundred years. The two never stopped to chat- or Sandman’s equivalent- or anything like that really. No, Sandy was much too busy. However, he always had the time to smile at the desperately lonely boy or wave to him, and Jack loved to play in the dreamsand and watch the children sleep. As an immortal he rarely slept, and with a life such as his, the boy’s sleeping mind was the equal domain of both Pitch and Sandy. He hated the nightmares while he loved the dreams, but that was okay with Pitch. He didn’t care if the boy despised his nightmares, so long as the immortal child continued to fear them. And he most certainly did. Unfortunately, that caused him to treasure Sandy’s dreams even more and so Sandy alone of the Guardians felt the power of Jack’s belief. Which was why he was so powerful, why he held so strongly against Pitch. It was also the reason why he had to die first.  
Now hope, hope is a hard thing to kill completely. It can wedge itself into the narrows of your mind, remaining as mere whispers until something sparks and it turns into a raging storm. Pitch would show up at odd times to speak with the boy- and poor, lonely soul he was Jack nearly longed for his unnerving company- to plant seeds of doubt and fear, the best hope killers he knew. Unfortunately, he couldn’t eradicate it entirely. The hope stubbornly persevered. At least, until the Easter Bunny himself had snuffed it out completely.  
It was 1868. Jack had spent over a century alone, hadn’t spoken to anyone- not even Pitch- in a few decades. He was desperate and attention starved. So he did what any attention-seeking child did. He caused trouble.  
The blizzard was a beautiful thing for Pitch. Not only did he get the fear of hundreds of children snowed into their homes Easter Sunday, but Jack himself was terrified that his plan, his last desperate course of action, wouldn’t work. He hoped that it would of course but the fear was most definitely present. Fear tasted best when tinged with hope. Like a chocolate covered pretzel, sweet fear and hope as salty as the tears that came when that hope was for naught. It was decadent.  
Jack finished his blizzard. He was naughty, caused more trouble than he dared to believe. He knew Bunny would kill him for ruining the holiday and was too desperate to truly care. He sat at the center of his pond, his darker clothes standing out against a forest that was completely white, and waited. And waited. And waited. And Pitch waited with him, hiding in the shadows and feeding, feeling his power swell. Finally there was an enraged howl that made Pitch slink further into the concealing shadows even as Jack shot to his feet in a combination of delight and terror.  
“FROST!” The Easter Bunny yelled, rushing out to the pond’s shore and calling out to the boy standing at its center as he cursed in Australian. Finally he had enough control over himself to yell something other than an unintelligible insult. “Get over here!” He yelled, and to the bunny’s surprise Jack obeyed, not looking the least bit sorry for snowing out his holiday.  
“What do ya think yer doin’ ya idiot! This is my ‘oliday and you ruined it! What, do ya think yer the only one who exists?” Bunny missed how Jack’s face darkened at the question, but Pitch did not. “That you can do anythin’ ya want just cuz ya think it’d be good for a laugh? Of all the stupid, inconsiderate- Ya can’t do stuff like this, ya piece of frostbite.” Jack frowned as Bunny bent down and tried to hide some eggs close enough to a house for the children to find, only half focusing on Jack. “If ya try another stunt like this again I’ll make sure I don’t have to worry about your winter again for another century.”  
“Would you bring the other Guardians too?” The frost child asked, his voice filled with hope though its Guardian missed the tone. He glanced back at Jack for a moment in irritation before leaning to get back to work.  
The bunny snorted. “Please I don’t need any of them to teach a lesson to a show pony like you.”  
Jack brightened. When Bunny was mad he’d looked at him again, it felt more like he was talking to Jack, not just complaining to thin air. The boy began speaking in attempt to get Bunny to focus on him again, even if the only way to do that was to make him angry.  
“Come on, I think it looks better this way. White is so much prettier than green. I don’t get what the big deal is about spring and Easter anyway.” Maybe he went too far. It was hard to tell, considering he hadn’t talked with anyone in a couple decades, but he was pretty sure that Bunnymund’s expression wasn’t exactly ‘happy’.  
“You know what the big deal about Spring is? It’s not Winter. It brings hope to people after winter to show that there is going to be life and warmth and happiness again after months of cold and white and death and you. And Easter is a herald of Spring, brings hope and shows that your time is done. It a celebration of the beginning of Spring, of the end of Winter. So why don’t you get out of here before I throw you into a tunnel so deep you won’t crawl out for a decade.”  
He created a tunnel and hopped away then, completely missing the Pain-filled words Jack whispered after him. “Not like anyone would care if you did.” The frost boy breathed, and with that breath all hope left him. No one would help him. And though children seemed to play happily in his snow they were always glad to see it leave when spring arrived. They wouldn’t believe in him, they were just trying to make the best of a bad situation until he finally moved on. No one liked him. No one wanted him. He would always and forever be alone.  
Of course, he didn’t come to all of these conclusions by himself. Pitch helped a great deal: whispering in his ear, making suggestions on their purposely rare meetings, and infusing the thoughts into his nightmares. It was so easy now.  
If Bunny felt the overwhelming loss of power as belief in hope faded, he did nothing more than blame its source. For while few children lost faith in the Easter bunny that ill-fated day, one poor little frost child lost all hope.  
So the boy had no memories, was too bitter for wonder, shared his dreams with nightmares, had lost hope, and had fear in abundance. It was a power surge like Pitch could barely fathom. Suddenly he had the power to change dreamsand, shifting it from pleasant images to horrifying Nightmares standing at his beck and call. He was more powerful than ever and the Guardians had no clue. He was hiding, waiting for the right time. He was monitoring Jack’s steadily growing sadness and fear, wanting to gain as much power as possible before facing his enemies.  
So he waited. And watched as Jack cries to the moon stopped being pleas and turned to angry, bitter calls. He watched as the boy stopped crying in the night over a future that would only get worse. He watched as Jack tried to hid his sadness behind a tough and angry mask that he wore even when alone and he watched as sometimes true hatred, bitter as the cold winter wind, broke through. He watched as the boy enjoyed a rare afternoon of fun, and watched as the fear and lonliness would crash down even more powerfully when the fun came to an end. He waited as the fear’s growth began to slow, until finally it flat lined. Neither increasing nor lessening no matter what Pitch whispered in the boy’s ear.  
It was inevitable, Pitch knew. After all you can only live your worst nightmare for so long before you become numb to it. So the man of the shadows knew that he would gain no more power from the increasing fear of the boy, but that was alright. He was powerful already. And so he set forth a plan, a glorious plan to destroy the Guardians. A plan that would have worked had it not been for that one little frost child.  
Manny had chosen Jack to be a Guardian. At first it had been delectable. The Nightmare King was being treated to a host of fears from the boy he hadn’t tasted in years. The white haired boy was so afraid of letting the legends down, of getting left out in the cold again. He was afraid that they were just using him, that they didn’t care. He worried that he would get used to being with people, that it would make his inevitable return to loneliness so much worse. He was afraid of making a mess of everything, like he always did. And that was even before the shadowy king spoke to him.  
Taunting Jack and teasing him brought the boy so much more fear than usual. Terror at Tooth Palace and then downright horror in the caverns. And then when the Guardians, once again, proved the boy’s worst fears true Pitch could hardly stand it. The fools had played right into his hands, doing exactly what he had told Jack they would do and effectively ruining any trust or belief the icy-child had for them. Jack was terrified more than he had been in centuries.  
He had made his proposition then, when the child was separated from childhood’s protectors, alone and in the barren cold once more. For even if Pitch truly defeated the guardians and fear ruled the world, he would still truly miss the icy-sweet fear he longed for like an addict. With Jack “by his side” he could play on the ice spirit’s fears just enough. Keep him doubting and fearful so that he could get his fix. But of course the boy refused. The only thing more frustrating than a truly fearless man was a fearful man who chose to be brave. Oh well, if Pitch could get neither Jack’s compliance nor fear, he would at least keep the boy out of the fight.  
Jack’s terror at seeing Baby Tooth in the Shadow King’s grasp had been like fine wine, matched only when Pitch refused to hold up his end of the deal and let the fairy go. And then- oh, then- when the staff was snapped clean in half it tasted like manna from heaven, better than any fear he had ever tasted. And so, in hopes of keeping that flavor just a little longer he tossed the boy his little stick as he lay in the bottom of the ravine, terror filling Pitch with strength.  
It was perfect. Then, the frost child came back, along with the rest of the Guardians, and decided to try and play the hero. It was impossible and they all knew it. There was only one believer left, the Guardians should have been weak they should have been on their death beds, in comas, barely hanging on. But no, they managed to limp their way into battle. It was because they didn’t have one believer, they had two. Jamie and the one little frost child.  
Jack was filled with the wonder that came from knowing that he had saved his sister’s life, that he was meant to be a Guardian. He had his memories. He was dreaming of a better future, and he had hope that he would make it a reality.  
Pitch knew he was defeated when Jack truthfully declared that he was no longer afraid. Oh, he still fought, but he knew he was doomed, especially as the children started to believe again, as Sandy rose golden from the black ashes. When Bunnymund regained form with only a few simple believers, and Jack, he knew that it was all over. When the children ran through him and the Nightmares turned against their own king it only sealed the deal.  
Now he was a mere wisp of a shadow, feeding on petty fear and Jack’s lingering uncertainties. The Guardian of Fun still had plenty of fear. You don’t go from 300 years of solitude to interacting with two distinct groups of people without having a little uncertainty. You didn’t go through what Jack went through without having some trust issues. You couldn’t go through years of being ignored without floundering in worry of abandonment.  
But these fears were far from filling, and they lessoned every day as more hope, wonder, dreams and memories were poured into the boy. Leaving the Guardians more powerful than ever before and Pitch at his absolute weakest, despite hundreds of children permanently losing their faith that one Easter morning. Those idiotic Guardians, they didn’t even think to questions why their powers were at an all time high when they had less believers than they’d had in centuries.  
That accursed Man in the Moon. He had planned this, Pitch just knew it. Fear couldn’t be defeated this soundly unless it took a stand. He had given Pitch Jack, to feed off his loneliness and fear and grow strong. He had done it knowing that the boy would be a Guardian, giving them his power source and eradicating it from Pitch forever. It was all part of the plan for loosening fear’s hold and he’d fallen for it. Pitch snarled as a hint of Jack’s fear flowed through the air. Seems that the boy froze one of the Yetis an ‘oh how will North react’- bah! It was because of Jack that he’d grown, strong, powerful. Now it was all gone and he was feeding of trivialities.  
He had risen to become a force capable of defeating the Big Four. He had wielded awesome power. Now that power was gone, resting almost solely on the Guardians. He had risen on the fear of one little frost child and he had fallen by the belief of that one little frost child.


	2. 2. Frosty Belief

They should be dead. They really should. The faltering, dying faith of one believing child wasn't nearly enough to sustain them. They had begun flickering, fading, at five, couldn't move by four, and were completely unconscious by the time the second to last died. But then, then a miracle happened, Tooth gasped to wakefulness, the exhilaration of a child with their memories a shot of adrenalin to her chest. Then a bolt of pure, total wonder came out of the blue, shocking North awake. It was only moments later that Bunnymund felt a similarly inexplicable explosion of hope and blinked wearily awake. The trio rushed as fast as their weak limbs could bear to carry them, expecting to see a spontaneous scatter of lights only to stop in surprised silence as they finally saw the globe and the single light it boasted.

"We must go," North said weakly, "Must protect the last light."

They stumbled to where the sleigh lay, but the beasts that pulled it could barely move, let alone fly. Yet just as all seemed lost Bunnymund felt a rush of powerful hope fuel his form. An ancient hope that had nearly been buried and was now being felt full force. A pure, desperate hope with such potency and power that he nearly was able to regain his form when the hope proved true. Yet the pure powerful wave did not die when hope proved true and was thus no longer necessary. It changed forms, becoming an incredible wave of pure, raw wonder, the likes of which North had never felt before. It was like someone had finally gotten a present they'd dreamed of for centuries, and the gift was more amazing than they could have ever dreamed. The burst was enough for the animals to life their way into the sky and to the whispering, dying portal the North had placed overhead, giving just enough energy for them to go through to Burgess.

There they found the last light, and Jack. And North had felt wonder himself when the last light turned to the spirit, noticing him, seeing him for the first time ever. The wonder inside Nick only increased when he heard what the eternal teen had done for Bunnymund, the one he owed the least of them all.

Then the true battle started, children came, children saw and believed, but it was still a pitifully small amount, not nearly enough to give them any semblance of strength and yet, somehow they were able to fight, able to win.

Sandy came back with a vengeance, feeling the power of a dream come true coursing through his sandy streams. Bunnymund, still a defenseless rabbit, ducked under a car before feeling a completely exhilarating hope, like someone finally believing they had a chance against a formidable foe. His form returned with an unthinkable six believers, and they somehow had the power to fight, to win, when they shouldn't have been able to life a weapon. They should have been dead. They should also be weak. Not all children could be saves that day, several hundreds of lights blinked out forever. They should have been barely able to work, desperately trying to work past fatigue towards salvaging their next holidays, but they weren't. They were stronger than ever, ahead of schedule with top quality of work. They should have been dead. They should have been weak. Instead, they were neither. And they had no clue why. It was driving North crazy.

"Come oooooon." Jack moaned, laying upside down on a couch with boredom clear in his eyes. He'd known that the guardian meetings would be boring, in fact he'd expected it. What he hadn't expected was for them to spend the week after he became a guardian in a never ending meeting discussing why exactly the Guardians still existed. "Can't you just be happy you're alive and be done with it?" He asked for what felt like the millionth time.

"But it makes no sense." North argued, prompting Tooth to look up from the five thousandth ancient text she was studying.

"We need to find out why this worked Jack, so we can know if we can count on it in the future."

The young spirit just sighed and rolled his eyes, bored of the oft repeated arguments. "Well, you guys keep brainstorming or something, I'm going to go bug the yeti in the kitchen until they give me cookie dough."

"Jack don't bother the people who handle the food!" North yelled, but the child was long gone. The man sighed despondently and joined the other four in silent study. After a while, Sandy "spoke up", showing various symbols in his sands, a clover, heart with an arrow, a rodent in a hole, other spirits.

"'Bah," North snorted, knowing the limits to a spirits belief. It wasn't enough for a spirit to know of the existence of a fellow spirit, they had to fully feel and believe in the spirits essence, their _center._ "Spirits are thousands of years old, is nothing new for them to feel wonder at, in their eyes."

"Don't hope for much either." Bunnymund snorted, "Happy with their lives just how they are."

Tooth was nodding. "And they never seek their childhood memories anymore, too certain that they're older and wiser now and don't need them."

Sandy deflated, but he knew it had been an unlikely shot. However, his frown increased as a thought occurred to him, the expression mirrored in Bunnnymund who had obviously come to the same conclusion.

"They don't have too much fun either." The bunny mumbled.

Tooth nodded slowly in understanding. "Where did Jack's power come from?" She asked, voicing the thought running through each of their minds. Jack Frost was little more than a saying a few weeks ago, but even then, without believers, he'd been incredibly powerful. It wasn't impossible for spirits to live with no believers, but those that did barely clung on. They were often weak, easily swayed spirits with little power to speak of. While spirits such as the leprechaun and St. Valentines had power, it was invariably tied to their holiday and peoples participation, and even they were no match for one of the Guardians. But Jack… Jack had incredible power, enough to blow Pitch away, even when his name was little more than a rarely cast saying. It was impossible, he should be feebly holding on to his presence, but he wasn't. He was powerful and larger than life. One more thing that was not as it should be.

As if drawn by their words, Jack flew into the room in decidedly better spirits than before, happily licking cookie dough off of a yeti sized spoon. "Look!" He exclaimed, proudly displaying his treat. "I managed to steal some chocolate chip!"

"Jack," Tooth began, her serious voice drawing the smile out of the boy. "Your power, your strength… why are you so powerful?"

"Huh?" The spirit asked, looking anything but mighty with a glob of dough spread across his cheek. "What do you mean?"

Bunnymund speaks up, the only one capable of being blunt enough to get the point across. "Before the other day you had no believers, your name was just a phrase, and you weren't getting any help from other spirits, but you managed to fight toe for toe with Pitch. No other spirit has ever gotten anywhere near that much power without believers. How did you?"

Jack shrugged as he licked his treat. "I dunno. _I_ believed in Jack Frost, I guess that was enough."

The silence that followed was strange enough to finally pull the child's attention away from his dessert, only to see four pairs of eyes full of shock realization, each one locked onto him.


	3. North Wind

It's less than a week until Christmas and North is doing nothing. It is December 19th and North is standing still in his office. It is five days until Christmas Eve and North is staring out his window. 120 hours away from the biggest night of the year, and Santa Claus can not move. Instead he stands transfixed by a frosted over window pane, the ice perfectly forming the image of the ideal Christmas image, a family gathered around the tree with presents all around. North can practically see the ice crystals making up the tree lights sparkle and shine as the sun hits them, and he would be hard pressed to swear that flames were not flickering around the icy fireplace. Above the scene there lay a patch of ice, with a childishly simple imprint of a smiley face, wobbly lines obviously drawn into the ice by a finger.

North felt his eyes widen and his chest swell with wonder at the sight, no doubt exactly what the spirit of winter had intended when he put it there. However, the burst of joy that Jack likely had expected to follow was absent, instead the art simply gave the man a hollow feeling of guilt. This was a message from Jack, a reminder not to lose his wonder within the hustle of work and deadlines. This was Jack looking out for him, watching over him like a guardian should. So where had North been when jack needed a guardian?

The man sighed and made his way to his desk, closing his eyes on a burst of sadness when he spotted the stack of cards sitting in a pile in the center of the desk. They were all dated, signed, and addressed to him in the same scrawling and messy penmanship. All bearing the same name at the top left corner with only Burgess Lake as the return address. It wasn't uncommon for North to get letters from spirits. However, it was rare that he would get a genuine one. Too often it was trickster spirits feeling mischievous or minor spirits feeling jealous. They would send him letters asking the impossible from him, addressing them in the names of children genuinely on the nice list and deserving of wonders on Christmas morning. After a while North got tired of the pranks, and had yeti stationed in the mail room to check over the letters and archive the ones with a magical essence. He'd never even considered that it would mean that he would not receive the wishes of one immortal child.

A few months after they defeated Pitch he got his first early letter and the though occurred to him. He'd had the mail yeti search through the archives to find all of the letters Jack had written, just to see if he was right and the boy had actually written to him asking for wishes that never came true Christmas morning. He had.

There were less than a hundred, the last one dated for two years before the blizzard of '68. North hadn't told Bunny about the coincidence, hadn't told him about the letters at all, but couldn't help but wonder if he had answered, had read, even one of these letters if the storm could have been avoided. Something in his belly told him yes. Something in Jack's eyes confirmed it.

North hadn't told Jack about the letters either. Jack knew about their existence of course, but he didn't know that North had dug them up, that he had found them. North couldn't bring it upon himself to read them either, afraid what he would find. He was terrified that he'd find pleas of help, cries for salvation from his loneliness, desperate pleas for someone, for the hero of children, to look at him, notice him. North feared the guilt he would feel if he opened one to find a lonely child's cry for attention. He was afraid of knowing that he could have helped, could have saved a child's pure wonder, but lost the chance.

He sometimes watched the boy now, the lively and excited Jack who saw the joy in everything and seemed unbreakable, and tried to convince himself that he knew Jack. He tried to convince himself that the Guardian of fun had never been the broken, lonely boy he would sometimes imagine. He would almost manage to make himself believe that Jack had stood strong alone, and that his letters would be nothing more than unfulfilled requests for toys or games, perhaps clothes or treats. Almost. But he knew better, and his stomach would never let him believe for long before interrupting with the truth. He had failed Jack, left him alone and let his wonder die.

He also tried to convince himself that Jack's wonder had remained even without North's interference. He reasoned with himself, one could have wonder without Christmas after all. Just because North wasn't personally watching out for the boy didn't mean that he felt no wonder, took no amazement in the world around him. But this lie rang out as hollowly in his mind as the other. Especially when Jack's belief led to him being so far ahead of schedule that he could spare time to stare at frost on his office window. This was power like he hadn't felt in centuries, more than that of hundreds of extra children. He knew that he would have known if he'd had it the year before.

The worst part was, he was pretty sure he could pinpoint the year that Jack lost belief. He couldn't say the exact calendar year, but the Christmas itself was fresh and stark in his mind. It was a beautiful Christmas, full of belief, snow, and wonder. One of his most successful. He felt at full power with wonder and belief flowing through his veins. But then, the next morning he'd felt so incredibly weak. It was as though he were having a hangover worse than any before, like he'd aged sixty years in one night. He could remember running to the globe the instant he awoke, certain he had made some gregarious mistake with the presents that had lost him thousands of believers. To his surprise the globe was just as bright as ever, but the weakness remained. It had felt like he was playing catch up ever since, always busy, always behind schedule. Until this year, that is.

He sighs and drums his fingers along the desk, but cannot think of a reason to stall any longer. He's been able to put off reading them for days, citing that he was busy with Christmas preparation, but they had such a boost of power that they had already made enough toys to give each child what they deserve and more. Now they were only wrapping the presents. And it wasn't even the major wrapping that they were working on, the base wrapping was done yesterday. Now they are focusing on adding glitter, bows, messages, different colors, and anything else to make the presents look prettier. There was nothing else for North to do or oversee. Even the sled was ready to go.

With a sigh the man glanced back to the frost on his window. If Jack could be a guardian to North, then North would be a guardian for Jack. Without any further hesitation the man opens the oldest of the letter.

Dear Santa Clause,

I've heard a lot of things about you this year. A lot of things about a lot of stuff actually, people say a lot of stuff when they don't know you're there. Anyway, people say that if someone writes a letter to you then you'll visit them on Christmas and give them presents if they've been good and coal if not. I think I've been good. If I've been bad then I didn't mean to I swear, but I guess coal wouldn't be so bad if you still came on Christmas to deliver it. I've also heard people say that you don't exist, but I've heard just as many people say you do. Exist, that is. I think I'm going to believe the people that do believe in you for now, after all I'm not really sure I exist. Nobody else seems to notice, so I'm not even sure if you'll get this letter. If I don't exist then I guess the letter doesn't either. I guess I won't know until Christmas. Well, I think that brings me to the present part of this letter. Um, since this is my first time trying this I guess I should start small maybe. I saw some kids using special shoes to walk on the ice, and it looked fun. I mean, I can already walk on the ice, but they slid and seemed to almost fly. It looked like fun. Could I maybe have a pair, please, Mr. Santa?

Jack Frost

The man sighed in relief. That wasn't as bad as he'd feared it would be. Confidence restored, the man opened the next letter.

Dear Santa Clause,

Maybe I didn't send the letter in time last year, I'm sorry. I sent it a lot earlier this year, so I hope you get it. On the bright side I know you exist now! I saw your sleigh when it went over my lake! I was going to say hi, but I decided to pretend to sleep instead. Maybe that's another reason why you didn't come, I wasn't actually asleep. Sorry, it's hard to sleep sometimes, I get nightmares. I think I exist too though, I'm pretty sure. Nobody can see me, but they can see the stuff I make! So, I must exist, right? Anyway, I was thinking about just asking for the ice shoes like last year. Hopefully that will make things easier.

-Jack Frost

North frowned, eyes lingering back to 'nightmares'. He moved the letter into his desk, he'd have to talk to Sandy about it, before moving on to the next.

Dear Santa,

Okay, I think I figured out what the problem was. Maybe. I hope. I haven't been doing this Christmas thing right, I think. I'm going to this year though! I found a really big pine tree by my lake and I'm already making plans to decorate it. I don't do well with fire, but hopefully a snack of nuts and winter berries can count as my cookies, right? I even milked a cow so you'll have a drink. I found a lost sock earlier too, so I have a stocking now. I couldn't make a chimney, but I have everything else, I did everything right so you'll come this year with she skates. Please, please, please come this year. I don't really want the skates this bad, I just really want you to come. I'll be good and asleep, I promise.

Jack Frost

Dear Santa,

If I could just know what I did wrong, please? I know I exist, I know it. Someone talked to me earlier this year. I didn't really like him because he was kind of creepy and kept on disappearing into the shadows, but he saw me so I know I exist. I know you exist too, so please please come. I don't even care if I don't get any presents. If you could just come, maybe explain why you never did before and what I can do better. Maybe it's the skates, I don't need skates. How about a stuffed toy? That could be fun, like, a friend I could carry anywhere. Please.

-Jack Frost

North's frown deepened and he added the letter to the one talking about the nightmare before moving on, his heart growing heavier. As he read on the letters got farther and farther from what he had hoped for and closer to what he had feared. Discussions about Christmas and presents fading in favor of constant pleas for attention. The presents got less and less complex, until Jack was begging for even coal, any sign that North was listening. Every once in a while Jack would mention a nightmare, or a conversation with a shadowy figure, and those letters added to the pile off to the side. As he read the increasingly repetitive notes, he felt his heart grow steadily heavier, falling into guilt until one that was decidedly different from the rest appeared.

Dear Santa,

I guess I haven't fixed whatever I did wrong yet. I'm sorry, I don't know what it was, but I'm sorry. I found your workshop this year. I thought if you didn't have time to come to me, that I might be able to come to you and ask what I could do to fix it, but I got kicked out. I guess you don't even have time for me in summer. I prosmise I wouldn't take up that much time, I could even be helpful. Maybe we can work together? I would LOVE to go with you and give everyone a white Christmas. Just say the word. I wouldn't even need a present! Just spending Christmas with you would be present enough. I've tried extra hard to be good this year, especially since I saw your workshop. Please!

-Jack Frost

North sighed. He'd never been told about Jack's visits. Not the first one, or the series of visits afterwards when the boy attempted to sneak in, apparently decades after the first attempt and long after Jack gave up any attempts to quell his naughty, mischievous nature. He wished he'd known. Even if he hadn't known much about Jack Frost then, just the fact that there was a boy curious enough to crawl through his garbage shoots would have gotten him curious enough to see him. But it wasn't so, he wasn't told, and therefore Jack's next letter was full of apologies for visiting the workshop before they returned to the increasingly desperate and bitter notes. By the time North got to the second to last letter Jack was begging for any sign of reply, sounding like he was going crazy. He wanted someone to notice him on Christmas, any recognition from Santa at all. Finally North got to the last letter in the pile, his heart growing cold as he read the words, the first line nearly as snarky and bitter as Jack had been when the Guardians first tried to recruit him.

Santa,

I don't know why I'm bothering to write these any more, it's not like I'll get a reply. I guess I just decided for one last fruitless attempt. Just, just please. I'll do anything, be good forever if I could just get one thing this one Christmas. Please. I don't care who, I just need someone, anyone, even you, anyone besides Pitch Black to see me.

-Jack Frost

North felt his blood freeze. He'd known from the other letters that Pitch was influencing Jacks. They had spoken of nightmares and shadow men, but to have their nemesis, a spirit of fear named in this final letter…

The usually jolly man let out one long, slow breath. North never did answer this letter, any of them. Jack Frost had gone centuries with the attention of no one. No one but Pitch Black, the boogieman. And Jack… he was so alone, so desperate, so… afraid. And all he had was Pitch. North shuddered, it was enough to make anyone lose their wonder. Suddenly the man's face dropped into a scowl. No. He would not blame Pitch for this. It was his fault and his alone that Jack had lost his wonder. It was the fault of Christmas after Christmas finding himself all alone, forgotten and overlooked. Pitch was just there to pick up the pieces, not to make the shatter.

However, if Pitch were taking an interest in the boy, even so long ago, it would explain so very, very much. It would explain his rise in power, his newfound might. It would explain-

Knock knock. The man was torn from his thoughts by the sound of knocking on his window. He turned to see that while he was been wholly invested and focused on the letters, Jack had silently taken it upon himself to change the picture. The parents were now gone, as well as the fire, and the children slept in a crumpled heap while a pair of feet poked out from the empty hearth. North laughed in wonder and smiled at Jack, tramping down his guilt to show the joy the teen sought. Reaching over to open the window he gestured the boy inside.

"Jack! Window is amazing!"

"Thanks." The teen responded with a grin. "I've got a little practice."

"Aha! Now come, I wished to talk with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes! Now Jack,": The man began in a conspir1al tone, "Do you know, what is the one thing that is even better than Christmas?"

"What?"

"A white Christmas! And no one would be better for making a white Christmas than you!" He gave the teen a wink. "Would you like to help me spread some Christmas cheer?"

"Can I ride in the sleigh?"

"Of course!"

"Sweet! I'm in."

"Good, good! Come day before Christmas eve, we start at twilight!"

"Sweet! Hey, do you know where Phil is? He'll be mad if I leave without saying hi."

"Why leave so soon? Stay, steal some hot coco. We are ahead of schedule this year!"

"Really? Cool! Does that mean I can freeze some elves?"

"Ha! You could do that even if we were busy!"

Jack grinned before cackling evilly and shooting off outside. North smiled at the sight and began making his way to where the toy-making yetis were resting. They had ice skates and stuffed animals to make. Jack may have gone years, centuries lacking wonder because of North, but if the man had anything to do with it, the child would never go without again.


End file.
